


Barbarian King

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (if you count post-rage exhaustion as a form of drunkenness), Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Barbarian Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Canon Era, Caring Merlin (Merlin), Drunken Flirting, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Epic Battles, Everyone has a D&D Class, Everyone knows about Merlin's magic, Exhaustion, Getting Together, Healing, King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Kneeling, M/M, Magic, Minor Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Use of Cold Iron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30026013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Merlin has waited for three long years for this exact opportunity. During a battle against the near-mythical Barbarian King Arthur, Cenred has Merlin's manacles removed so he can fight. With only two guards watching him, it is easy for Merlin to make his escape. He doesn't make it far, and instead ends up being dragged before Arthur himself.(Note: You do NOT need to know anything about D&D to read this, I just thought Arthur would look hot in Barbarian Rage and this got out of control)
Relationships: Lancelot/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69
Collections: Anarchy and Nerdy Fill the Same Prompt





	Barbarian King

“We’re losing!” Cenred snarls, stomping to the tents that stand far behind the battle lines. His dark hair is somehow greasy despite not having set foot on the field. Merlin thinks it must be a side effect of his generally greasy personality. 

“What do you need us to do, Sire?” one of the soldiers, the one standing to Merlin’s right, asks. Merlin doesn’t know his name, hasn’t bothered to learn anyone’s name. 

“We swore to Morgause we would hold this territory from that barbarian, and I don’t think any of us will survive her wrath if we fail.” Cenred says, and his beady black eyes fix on Merlin, “March him up to the line, let him loose.”

“Yes, Sire.” The soldier to Merlin’s left responds and rushes off to disconnect Merlin’s chain from the post inside Cenred’s tent. 

Merlin still isn’t sure why Cenred insists on them sharing a tent. He never asked. All he cares about is that Cenred is, though he will never admit, afraid of him. To Cenred, Merlin is like a wild animal; chained, docile, but unpredictable. Merlin has never wanted anyone to be afraid of him, but Cenred? He is glad that Cenred is haunted by the embodiment of the choices he made. 

As if sensing Merlin’s defiance, Cenred steps closer and grips Merlin by the chin. It forces Merlin to make eye contact, whether he wants to or not. 

“You will do as I say or you won’t like the consequences. I’ve tolerated your behavior until now, but defying me in battle is treason.”

“I’ll be good.” Merlin promises, widening his eyes to make them as blue and innocent as possible, “I swear I won’t let you down.”

Cenred squeezes hard enough to leave a bruise, making his power known the only way he knows how, and steps back. The left-soldier returns with the chain wrapped around his wrist and Cenred gives a stiff jerk of his head towards the battlefield. Right-soldier and left-soldier each place a hand on Merlin’s back and give him a hard shove to get him moving. It’s unnecessary. Merlin isn’t going to blow his one chance by kicking up a fuss. 

The three of them wend their way through the lines of fighting men until the red and gold colors of Camelot’s army rise bright and triumphant in view. After so long Merlin has almost forgotten that colors could be that bright. They sear the sky with their intensity. 

“No funny business now.” Right-soldier warns as he steps in front of Merlin with the keys to the manacles around Merlin’s wrists, “You know the drill. You decimate their men, don’t hit any of ours, and if you’re loyal maybe Cenred will consider keeping you off leash.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Merlin reminds them, and doesn’t even have to put on a mask. It’s the truth after all. He has nowhere to go, certainly not home. 

Right-soldier nods, slides the key into the lock, and with a twist the manacles drop from Merlin’s wrists. For a moment he feels like the world around him stills. The noise from the battle fades, the fighting slows to an imperceptible crawl, and he takes what feels like his first breath in weeks. Then it comes back to him. The swirling shadows twining with the brilliant nearly painful golden light. It floods his veins, makes him toss his head back on a groan half pain, half relief. 

The battle snaps back into motion, and Merlin is met with the expectant stares of left-soldier and right-soldier. He grins at them because he can’t not, not with how happy he is at this moment. They smile back, confused and uncertain. 

Merlin extends his hand, the light and the shadow flair within him, and he shouts “Swefe nu!”

Left and Right’s eyes roll back in their heads, and they crumple to the ground fast asleep. And just like that, Merlin is alone with his magic for the first time in three years. He doesn’t have time to stop to enjoy it, not yet. Any moment now Cenred will come looking to find out why Merlin hasn’t called down lightning, or another Essetir Soldier will look over and see what he’s done. 

So Merlin runs. He wasn’t fast enough last time, but he is now. He sprints at an angle, trying to skirt the edge of the battle to avoid not running directly into Camelot forces while dressed in Cenred’s colors. He breaks the tree line as he hears the general call a retreat, which Cenred won’t like, and a cheer goes up from Camelot, which he will like even less. 

The forest is dark and still, unaffected by the battle raging just outside of it. Merlin keeps running even though he is starting to get a stitch in his side, and the shadows begin to grow too thick for even his magic to guide him through. Any moment he could trip over a tree root, bust his ankle, and get dragged back to Cenred kicking and screaming. Unfortunately, slowing down could also mean meeting the same fate but without the ankle injury so panic propels him forward. 

He blames the panic for how he missed it. His heart hammers so hard he gets tunnel vision, but he can’t stop. Not until something stops him, that is. He smacks into something solid, and for a second he thinks he’s run into a tree. Then the tree shifts and catches his bicep in a hard grip that he can’t pull himself out of. 

His head jerks up, and he is met with the sight of a giant of a man frowning at him. Merlin is too panicked to get a read on whether that frown means imminent harm, his mind is entirely focused on getting away, escaping. 

All he can think to do is yell, “Get off me!” and start thrashing against the grip like his life depends on it. He reaches for his magic, but after so long locked away, he’s lost his ability to reach it in a panic. 

Giant’s eyes widen and he shouts, “Elyan! Need your help!”

There’s a small crack of a twig snapping, and then suddenly something cold and sharp is pressed against Merlin’s back, just short of pricking his skin. Merlin freezes. He didn’t escape Cenred just to be gutted on the forest floor. He’ll find another way out. 

“Let’s all just calm down.” a warm voice echoes in his ear, it probably belongs to the Elyan that Giant called for, “What’s going on?”

“He ran right into me when I was scanning for stragglers. Look, he’s wearing Cenred’s colors.” Giant answers and nods at Merlin’s surcoat. 

The knife held at his back lifts just long enough for Elyan to circle around to the front, and rest its point close to Merlin’s heart. Where his companion is tall, broad, and fair skinned, Elyan is short, compact, and dark. The top of his head reaches a little past the bridge of Merlin’s nose. Merlin knows better than to underestimate him just because of his size. 

“Do you think he was on his way to try to assassinate Arthur?”

“I wasn’t!” Merlin blurts desperately, heart still racing to the point of breathlessness. 

“In all fairness, mate,” Giant says reasonably, “would you tell us if you were?”

“I’m not— I don’t—” Merlin struggles, tongue tied with panic. 

“Come on. Arthur will want to see this, if for no other reason than he’ll want to know how this one ended up so far behind our lines.” Elyan decides, and Giant nods in agreement. 

If they’re Camelot men, and they’re talking about an Arthur… oh shit. Merlin digs his heels in stubbornly, trying to make himself too inconvenient to move. If he gets taken to the Barbarian King himself, he isn’t coming out alive. 

“Please,” Merlin begs, not caring how undignified he sounds. He scraped the bottom of the dignity barrel long ago. “You don’t need to take me to him. You can let me go. I wasn’t even heading for your camp!”

“Well then you can explain that all to Arthur.” Elyan says with much more amusement than Merlin thinks the situation requires. 

Giant shares a grin with Elyan, then twists Merlin’s arms behind his back, and begins marching. Merlin does his best to stop it, he tries dragging his feet, he tries bucking and twisting, he even reaches desperately for his magic that shies away from his touch. As if he couldn’t hate Cenred more. None of it is any use. Giant just pushes him along silently. 

The Pendragon Camp is illuminated with what seems like hundreds of torches. The glow reaches every tent, bathing them in gold orange light. There are several fires burning in braziers and warriors cluster around them, making merry and celebrating their victory. A few heads turn to watch his progression through camp, but most people are still riding too high on adrenaline to notice, for which Merlin is grateful. 

They reach a tent at the center of camp, the largest of the ones Merlin has seen. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes they’ve reached Arthur’s tent. Elyan moves ahead and says something to the man waiting outside. Said man ducks into the tent, and returns a moment later. 

When he and Giant reach the tent, Giant redoubles his manhandling, muttering “Fuck, you’re as jumpy as a rabbit,” and wrangles Merlin inside. They walk a few steps, but Merlin doesn’t get a chance to process any of what he’s seeing before Giant presses heavily on his shoulders and forces him to his knees. 

There’s a beat of silence, then a voice tinged with something like arrogance and with something like the roar of a bear snaps, “Explain.”

“I found him when I was double checking the borders of our camp. He’s one of Cenred’s men, Sire.”

Merlin scowls, protesting, “I am _not_ one of Cenred’s men!”

“No?” The voice asks, the roar of a bear getting stronger, “You seem to be sporting his colors and his coat of arms.”

Merlin struggles to raise his head to meet the speaker he assumes is King Arthur head on, but Giant’s hand keeps him looking at the carpet he’s kneeling on. Something must pass between them silently because then the pressure on his neck is released, and Merlin is able to raise his head once more. 

He heard a lot about Arthur when he was a prince. Growing up on the border between Essetir and Camelot meant he got the propaganda of both kingdoms. In Essetir he was believed to be half demon, an unnatural abomination that must be stamped out before he could take over the world. They spoke of paint, hides, furs, appetites for raw meat and terrified bed partners. In Camelot he was spoken about with reverence. They believed him to be the best skilled knight in an age, someone who could lead Camelot into a new age of strength. They never discussed the rage in battle, how it made attacks against him weaken. Magic was still banned in Camelot then, and so Merlin decided if they were ignoring one thing they were ignoring most. He’d always taken the Essetir description with a grain of salt, but thought it to be closer to the truth. 

The reality of Arthur is… somewhere between the two. There are no hides or furs, instead he is wearing a proper tunic and trousers. He doesn’t seem to have a demonic glow about him, but neither does he seem entirely human. His hair is golden and damp with sweat from the battle, his eyes are a beautiful and terrifying shade of blue, there is a long gash in his arm that is steadily dripping blood but he doesn’t seem to notice the pain. All of his intense focus is on Merlin and Merlin alone. 

“I’m not wearing his colors willingly.” Merlin explains quickly, “He’s had me and magic under his control for the last three years.”

“Then how did you escape?” Arthur asks, voice near roaring. 

“Cenred is a moron.” Merlin answers, drawing a chuckle from Elyan and Giant, “He had them remove the cold iron so I could fight. I sent them to sleep and ran.”

Arthur is practically vibrating with unspent energy, but after a battle like this he should be exhausted. He flashes his teeth in annoyance at the mention of cold iron, and Merlin can see that his canines are slightly elongated. The shaking gets worse, and Arthur snarls in a low animalistic way. 

Concern overpowers any of Merlin’s rebelliousness or panic. Caring for others has come to him naturally since birth, and it’s clear that Arthur is in some sort of trouble. He can’t be sure, but from the stories this looks a lot like… 

“Are you still in rage?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur glowers at him ferociously, “Of course I’m in rage, my men were attacked.”

“You need to come out of it. It’s not protecting you anymore, you’re gearing up for a heart attack at this rate. Please, you need to come out of it.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

Merlin’s experience with calming and soothing extends to: farm animals in Ealdor, and Will. He’s not sure either of those skills will help bring a Barbarian King out of rage, but he has to try. His men are just watching, and Merlin really doesn’t want to witness a heart attack of he can stop it. He lunges forward without thinking, and Giant yanks him back roughly. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Giant asks at the same time Arthur bellows it. 

“He can’t feel his injuries! His arm alone is a breeding ground for infection and who knows what other injuries he sustained in battle! He needs to come out of it! I was trying to help.”

Elyan and Giant share a look as Arthur begins pacing frantically around the tent. 

“You go. You’ll find him faster.” Elyan says. 

Giant nods and releases Merlin from his hold. Merlin sags with relief and moves to stand, but Elyan steps in front and holds a dagger at Merlin’s throat. 

“I’m just trying to help.” Merlin repeats, feeling like his mind has been rather ripped to shreds by the events of the last hour.

Elyan’s gaze softens a little, “I think I believe you, but we can’t sort anything out until we have Arthur back.”

Giant returns in record time with another man in tow, and Merlin has a moment of curiosity about why Arthur and his men are all so handsome. The new comer is only a little taller than Arthur with dark hair and dark eyes. He carries himself with an air of nobility and gentleness. 

He approaches Arthur with no hesitation, ducking down to get in his eye line, “Sire?”

Arthur stops pacing, blue eyes zeroing in on the newcomer, “Lancelot?”

“That’s right.” Lancelot answers, smile sweet and affectionate, “You can breathe now. We’re safe.”

There is a physical change in Arthur then. His eyes lose some of that unnatural brightness, his shoulders sag, his face crumples in pain, and he stays on the spot like he might keel over. Lancelot reaches out and tugs Arthur towards him. Arthur goes willingly, burying his face in the crook of Lancelot’s neck with a little whimper. Lancelot makes a reassuring noise and presses a kiss to Arthur’s temple. 

It’s like finally putting out a fire that was burning out of control. 

Lancelot is still cradling Arthur when Merlin speaks up again, “He’s bleeding from a wound in his arm. If you let me up I can heal him.”

“Any sign of Leon?” Lancelot asks Elyan. 

“I’m sure Percival went to find him once he found you, but he might not have enough energy left for it if he had to heal himself in battle. If he” her Elyan inclines his head towards Merlin, “can be believed, he only cast once tonight. He should still have plenty of energy.”

“I’m not stupid enough to try to hurt him when I’m surrounded by people who don’t trust me. I didn’t escape Cenred just to die for his cause.” Merlin adds, trying to sound believable. 

He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t like when anything suffers. 

Lancelot nods, tucks his shoulders under Arthur’s arm, and helps him shuffle over to the bed set up to one side of the tent. Elyan sheathes his dagger and helps Merlin to his feet, a greater courtesy than he was ever given in the years under Cenred’s thumb. He makes his way over to the bed, legs screaming with protest after running and kneeling so long. 

Arthur is resting in the v of Lancelot’s hips, and as Merlin crouches down he spares a moment to wonder at the intimacy between them. 

Arthur saying, “Hurts.”, in a soft pained voice to Lancelot is the last thing Merlin hears for a while. He rests his hands on Arthur’s knees, and digs into his own magic. He separated the golden light from the shadow and coaxes it forward, lets it slip from himself into Arthur. His mind swoops at the strange sensation of holding two heartbeats side by side in his head, but he shoves his magic anyway. It seeks out every injury Arthur has, mending it to the best of its ability after going so long unutilized. Cenred never wanted him to remember how to heal. 

He shoots back into his own body and lands on his ass on the floor with a loud thump. He blinks to clear his vision, then shuffles forward to look at Arthur’s injuries. If nothing else, he seems to be breathing easier. The cut isn’t fully healed, but it isn’t as life threatening as it was when Merlin started. 

It still doesn’t sit easy with him so he meets Arthur’s gaze, quirks a small smile, “Sorry. It’s been a while since I healed anyone.”

Arthur’s chuckle is warm and full. His hand is rough against Merlin’s skin when Arthur cups his cheek, but his grip is gentle, and he says, “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

Merlin has no explanation for why that brings a flush to his cheeks.

Lancelot lets out an amused huff of air and smiles gratefully at Merlin, “Ignore him. He gets like this after a prolonged rage. Thank you for your help.”

“Wish I could’ve done more.”

Arthur’s thumb sweeps warm and heavy over Merlin’s cheekbone, drawing Merlin’s attention. With the rage gone, Arthur looks worse for wear. His skin is pale, his eyes are unfocussed, and the sweat that was there before no longer cools him from the heat of rage and instead makes him shiver with chills. He looks like he’s going to fall asleep right there in Lancelot’s arms.

“Who are you?” Arthur asks, a curious frown spreading over his hazy expression. 

“I’m Merlin.”

“Merlin.” Arthur repeats like he’s testing the name on his tongue, “How did you end up on Cenred’s side?”

“Sire,” Lancelot interjects before Merlin can answer, “all of this can be cleared up in the morning. You’re exhausted.”

Arthur nods blearily in agreement.

Elyan pats Merlin on the shoulder and nods towards the exit of the tent. Merlin offers one last nervous smile for Arthur and Lancelot, then follows Elyan outside.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know what specific classes everyone is, feel free to [come ask me on tumblr!](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/)


End file.
